


Carpe Imperium

by BirdofFire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdofFire/pseuds/BirdofFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(WRITTEN FOR THE LJ HERMIONE SMUT CHALLENGE)... There's nothing worse than a cheating ex - unless, of course, you are Hermione Granger, your cheating ex is Ron Weasley, and his exploits happened to be splashed all over the papers for the world to see. Add that to all-time low self-esteem and a return to Hogwarts, and Hermione is at her wit's end. Sure that no one could ever find her attractive again, it takes the help of a famous hero, his infamous nemesis and said nemesis' best friend, for her to see things a little more clearly...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

* * *

**I**

* * *

 

HERMIONE GRANGER slammed down her newspaper with enough force to wake the sleeping dragon the Hogwart’s motto had long warned about. How had things come to this? How was she sitting here back at Hogwarts, while her supposed boyfriend ran around London changing girlfriends more often than he did his shirt?

Okay, so maybe using the term ‘boyfriend’ was pushing her luck a bit. Ron Weasley was more of a paramour, significant other, interested party.

Uninterested party.

Ex-boyfriend.

It had been almost two months and it still hurt her to say that word. Two months since Ron had decided that she was no longer worth keeping around, that their relationship wouldn’t survive the year she’d be at Hogwarts.

That he couldn’t keep his trousers zipped for more than a few hours at a time.

Hermione hadn’t wanted to accept it at first. Ron had dumped her unceremoniously on an unfairly beautiful summer’s day at the Burrow, surrounded by golden light, swaying trees and the smell of jasmine and cut grass. Hermione had responded by telling him, in no uncertain terms, that the only way they’d be breaking up would be over her cold, dead body.

It had taken her walking in on him and Cho Chang (apparently the only thing even longer than her shimmering, waist-length hair, was Cho’s ability to hold a grudge from Fifth Year), in a position Hermione would have thought physically impossible, for her to get the picture. Ron didn’t want her. Ron didn’t love her. That passionate kiss at the climax of the Battle of Hogwarts had been a momentary aberration. She had only been a distraction for him, something to take his mind off the fact that they might not live to see tomorrow. What a joke.

She. Hermione Granger. ‘Greatest Witch of the Age’.

She felt more like the ‘Greatest Idiot of the Age’. She was so angry that she could have bitten through her tongue in rage.

After she, Harry and the Weasleys came through the Battle virtually unscathed, Hermione and Ron spent a few blissful months together – all recorded by the media, who couldn’t get enough of the passionate love of two members of the Golden Trio. ‘A love that had transcended the worst war the Wizarding World had ever seen’.

At least, that’s what it had looked like from the outside. Hermione might have been happy, might have enjoyed the sex, but Ron clearly hadn’t.

When she and Harry told the Weasleys of their intention of returning to Hogwarts for the unofficial ‘Eighth Year’, Ron had wasted no time in letting Hermione know just how things were going to be: either they would have an ‘open relationship’, or they could go their separate ways. After Hermione had told him just what she thought of that preposterous idea, Ron had decided to let her know how he felt about things – implicitly and explicitly.

Hermione’s eyes were still burning.

So here she was, boyfriend-less, unwanted, unattractive and surrounded by the gawking students of Hogwarts (and several professors, as well). It wasn’t enough that her hero status and too frequent features in the newspapers meant that she was stared at and talked about in the hallways. Oh, no. Now, she also had to put up with the disgusting and, frankly, quite vulgar details of her equally-as-famous ex-boyfriend’s love life.

And ‘love life’ was the polite term for what Ron was getting up to.

Tired and nauseated, Hermione let her head rest for a moment on her propped up elbow. Almost immediately, a buzz took up around her, the occupants of Ravenclaw’s table conversing on what they’d just seen. Ron was gallivanting around town, sharing his bits indiscriminately with anyone with a vee (and not a pee - though if rumours were to be believed, he was an equal opportunity lover), while Hermione sat here, lonely and heartbroken.

Just when Hermione was about to snap and eviscerate anyone who so much as _looked_ at her sideways, she felt a large, comforting hand touch her back. She turned to see Harry Potter, her best friend of almost a decade, watching her with pity in his green eyes.

   “Give that to me, Hermione.” He held out his other hand, the cuff of his shirt startlingly white against his tanned forearm.

   “I wasn’t-”

   “Yes, you were,” Harry interrupted, motioning again for the newspaper. Torn between giving in and keeping a hold of it for just a while longer, Hermione looked once more at the photo before her. Ron and his blonde flavour-of-the-moment were all over each other outside a restaurant in Diagon Alley, not sparing the reader a single glance. And not just any restaurant, Hermione’s favourite restaurant: La Barbe.

It’s almost as if digging her heart out wasn’t enough; Ron wanted to grind it through a wood chipper as well. It would definitely explain the searing pain radiating through her chest.

Without cause, the ‘mystery blonde’ ( _God, the Prophet was so predictable_ ) turned her head slightly from where Ron was nibbling like a drunken fish at her neck and looked straight at Hermione. A nasty smirk twisted her lips, her blue eyes glinting knowingly. Heart lurching painfully against her abused ribcage, Hermione almost tore the paper in her hurried effort to close it.

Before she could draw in another pained breath, the paper was snatched away and set on fire.

   “Harry!” Hermione shouted as she grabbed her glass, trying desperately to douse the burning paper with pumpkin juice. But Harry wasn’t having any of it. Effortlessly, he caught both her small hands in one of his own, and grabbed the half-empty glass with the other.

   “Oh, no, Hermione,” Harry replied firmly. “Enough is enough.”

   “But I was just-”

   “No.” He was insistent, even as Hermione struggled feebly to remove her hands from his Quidditch-roughened grasp. “It’s been two months. Stop torturing yourself.” Easier said than done, to be honest.

   “A month and a half,” she corrected, dangerously close to pouting. The date Saturday 28th August would forever be etched into her memory.

  “And that’s a month too long,” Harry replied, rising from the bench and grabbing both his bag and hers. He stared down at Hermione from his great height, green eyes glinting. It was a statement of fact, though Harry made it unusually fervent. Before Hermione could focus on the meaning behind it, he held out a hand to pull her up. “Let’s go. We have Potions.”

Looking quickly at the watch on Harry’s outstretched hand (it was almost nine o’clock!), Hermione glanced once more at the pile of ashes marring the table’s scrubbed wooden surface, before allowing him to pull her up. His hand engulfed her own in welcome warmth, its rough callouses scraping into her soft palm, and Hermione supressed a peculiar shiver. Discomfited, she snatched back her hand and quickly glanced up at Harry to see if he’d noticed, but he’d already turned and was heading for the door.

…

BLAISE ZABINI had never been the type to pity others. Empathy and sympathy were alien concepts to him, ones he only bothered to fake when it was in his best interests. So the fact that he found himself giving even the slightest fuck about a certain Gryffindor’s current state was utterly confusing.

Not that he could be blamed. All of Hogwarts had noticed Hermione Granger’s mental fragility since the start of the year. Students spent almost every mealtime stealing glances at her and devouring any scrap of news about her ex-boyfriend’s antics in the Daily Prophet. It irritated Blaise to end that that he couldn’t walk down a corridor without hearing her name mentioned.

Wolves, the lot of them.

Back in September, Blaise hadn’t given a damn. He, like everyone else breathing in the Wizarding World, had read all about Granger and Weasley’s disastrous break-up but unlike the others, he had simply read it, processed it and moved on (which was more than he could say for the famous Gryffindor Princess). However, as the leaves had fallen from the trees and September had handed things over to October, Blaise had noticedd that Granger seemed even more depressed and downhearted than ever - trudging from class to class, head bowed and looking a mess. She was even thinner now than she had been right after the war, and that was saying something.

The haunted look in her eyes had also made an unwelcome return. Not that Blaise cared, because he didn’t. He just didn’t think it seemly for Granger to make such a spectacle of herself, especially when Weasley clearly didn’t give even half a shit about how she felt.

Sneering in disgust, Blaise quickened his pace as he walked down the dimly lit corridor. Ahead of him were Granger and Potter, the young woman’s head stooped so low as to almost be almost scraping the floor. To his credit, her dark-haired companion was visibly concerned, not that it seemed to do any good. Irritated beyond belief, Blaise rolled his eyes. Potter had had over a month to sort this out and still hadn’t gotten through.

Blaise was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

…

  “Granger.”

Hermione started as a black satchel was dumped on the table in front of her. A moment later, Blaise Zabini sank into the seat beside hers, his slanted dark eyes glittering.

  “Zabini –”, her surprise made for a squeal rather than a casually worded question –“What are you – where’s Harry?” Without waiting for an answer, Hermione swung around to see her dark-haired best friend take a seat beside someone she would never have expected – Draco Malfoy.

Wait, _what?_

  “What is –”

  “Eyes forward, Granger.” A sharp rap on the table brought Hermione’s attention back to the lithe Slytherin beside her. Zabini’s eyes were fixed steadily on her, his expression impassive. Hermione hadn’t known that it was possible to lean on a backless chair, but Zabini was managing to do it, an elbow placed casually on the table behind theirs.  

  “Can I help you, Zabini?” Hermione’s confusion made her sound more polite than intended.

  “Stop this,” Zabini answered bluntly.

  “What?”

  “Stop this right now.” Zabini’s face remained expressionless.

  “What are you talking about, Zabini?” Hermione asked tiredly.

  “It is completely unacceptable.” It was clear that Zabini didn’t care to explain just what on Earth he was on about, but what else was new? The Slytherin was notorious for saying three words where others would use ten, with a raised brow to express disgust, irritation and the rare display of anger. The man was a sphinx – exotic, enigmatic and even more arrogant than Malfoy on his worst day.

Speaking of Malfoy, what were he and Harry doing sitting together? Sure there hadn’t been much animosity between them since the school year began (Harry and Hermione’s testimony at the Malfoys’ trial over the summer seemed to have gone a long way to assuring that), but they had probably only said a few words to each other.

Hermione glanced over at the two young men to find them quietly conversing, neither one noticing her fervent stare. To her surprise, no one else in the room appeared to care about the change in seating arrangements; the other students chatted as they waited for Professor Slughorn to turn up.

  “Granger –” Hermione jumped when Zabini rapped the table once more, – “Would. You. Focus?” The brunette swung back around to find the good-looking man eyeing her, irritated. What was _wrong_ with him? He had barely spoken three words to her before today.

  “What is it?” Hermione exclaimed, now beyond confused and venturing into ‘annoyed’ territory.

  “This has gone on long enough,” he replied – as if that made things any clearer.

  “If you don’t tell me what you’re talking about _this minute_ , Zabini –”

  “This moping over Weasley.” Eyes narrowed, Zabini seemed almost annoyed that he’d had to explain himself. “It’s gone on long enough.”

  “ _Excuse me?_ ” Hermione spluttered, voice rising in anger. Did Zabini just say what she thought he said?

  “You are embarrassing yourself, Granger,” Zabini continued as if she hadn’t said a word.

  “And what concern is that of yours?” Hermione asked, outraged. She paid no mind to Pansy Parkinson or her companion, Daphne Greengrass, who were a table over and were now looking over in her direction.

  “It is my concern because you have _made_ it my concern,” Zabini explained with a bored drawl. “You have made it _everyone’s_ concern, and as such, I have taken it upon myself to inform you that enough is enough.”

  “You have _no_ right.” Hermione’s rage almost choked her, her fingernails digging sharply into her palms. But Zabini only continued to stare at her as if she were no more interesting than a fly.

  “I have every right.” Zabini’s calm tone only served to anger Hermione even more. She could not believe what she was hearing. But he wasn’t finished. “Much as I may not like you, Granger, even I can see that Weasley is worth neither the time nor effort you are putting into this prolonged recovery.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Against her wishes, Hermione’s eyes pricked sharply. She swallowed hard, struggling to regain her composure, before continuing, “Ron and I were – he – I –” Unable to continue, she broke off. How could she hope to explain that her break-up with Ron was only part of the reason she was this way? Zabini couldn’t even begin to understand what she was going through; not with how _he_ looked. There was no way he’d ever go through what she had with Ron.

  “Exactly.” There was a slight pause during which Hermione fixed her gaze on the blackboard, refusing to allow the threat of tears to become a reality. Zabini eyed her carefully before he seemed to take pity on her and looked in the opposite direction, giving her time to gather herself.

When her eyes lost their grittiness and the lump in her throat had shrunk enough for her to speak, Hermione quietly, but firmly, said, “You don’t know what I’m going through and you _definitely_ don’t have the right to judge me.”

At that, Zabini’s lips tilted in a sardonic smile. “Oh, I know a lot more than you think and unfortunately, _everyone_ now feels they have the right to judge you - whether you like it or not. That’s the price the defeat of He Who Shall Not Be has cost you – the price you’ll have to pay for the rest of your life.

  “Is it fair? Maybe not. But it is what it is.” She was surprised by his quiet empathy and Hermione looked at Zabini to find his eyes more expressive than she’d ever seen them. The two gazed at each other for a moment, before he briefly glanced in Harry and Malfoy’s direction and continued loudly, “But not to worry. I am going to help you.”

  “Help me?” Hermione couldn’t have been more surprised at his casual, out-of-the-blue offer. “How could you possibly help me?” Zabini turned to the front, apparently having grown bored with what must have been his longest conversation in years.

  “Watch for my owl, Granger.”

A peal of confused laughter slipped out of Hermione. “I’m sorry?” But the dark Slytherin didn’t bother to reply, for his attention was on Slughorn who had entered the dungeon as they were talking.

…

_Watch for my owl?_

What did that even mean?

As she made her way to the Great Hall, Hermione’s earlier irritation returned with a vengeance. Just what had Zabini meant when he’d said he was going to help her? First, she didn’t recall asking for his help; and second, his condescending attitude _definitely_ hadn’t been asked for.

Growling, Hermione quickened her pace. It was dinnertime and she was still thinking about that – that _idiot_ ’s cruel words. They had flat out ruined Potions, resulting in her messing up the first stage of her Polyjuice Potion and having to start over three times before she’d finally gotten it right. To add insult to injury, Zabini had spent the entire lesson with his eyebrow raised – his equivalent to raucous laughter.

Harry had only made things worse by going on to sit with Malfoy for the rest of the day and refusing to tell her just what was going on. Her DADA notes were still hopelessly incomplete as a result and Hermione had just about had it.

  “Hermione!”

Speak of the Devil and he doth appear.

Hermione turned to see her dark-haired best friend walking up to her, green eyes glowing in the well-lit corridor. Harry (AKA persona non grata) came to a stop, towering over her at well over six foot. After the war, she’d almost forgotten how intimidating Harry could be under the right circumstances, but right at that very moment, with him gazing down at her with a frown creasing his brow, she got a quick refresher course. Hermione suddenly remembered that spark at breakfast and took an involuntary step back. If Harry noticed he didn’t show it, because a smile crossed his lips.

  “There you are.” He sounded oddly relieved. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Hermione blinked. He couldn’t have been looking _that_ hard, surely? “I was in the Owlery replying to Fred and George.” Having been furious after Ron had slept with Cho, the twins had offered to temporarily castrate their younger brother in their last letter. Against her better judgement and much as she had appreciated the offer, Hermione told them not to. No doubt it’d be traced back to her, making her look even more pathetic than Zabini told her she already did.

Hermione stiffened as humiliation threatened to overwhelm her. God, why had she asked Zabini to explain himself? She should have just told him to shove off. Going through this break-up had been bad enough; she hadn’t needed that poser making things even worse with his condescension.

 _“Ah,”_ Harry replied. He tilted his head, an odd light appearing in his eyes. Heart suddenly pounding, Hermione barely resisted the urge to take another step back and just as he looked about to say something else, she jumped in.

  “Well, let’s get to dinner, then,” she screeched before wincing and turning to walk towards the Hall. God, she sounded like a chipmunk. It wasn’t her fault, though. For whatever reason, Harry was behaving very strangely.

Yep. That was right. It was all Harry’s fault. Nothing to do with her whatsoever.

But before she’d gone very far, a large hand landed on her shoulder and swivelled her back around to face glowing green eyes.

  “Actually, Hermione, I-”

  “Potter. Granger,” the Malfoy heir greeted with an aristocratic drawl. A peculiar prickling heat flooded Hermione’s cheeks as Harry’s gaze seared into her for a moment before he turned to look at the Slytherin.

Clad in beige trousers and a grey cashmere sweater (that Hermione couldn’t help noticing offset those pewter eyes of his), Draco Malfoy strode up to them, hands in his pockets.

  “Malfoy.” Harry nodded. To Hermione’s relief, he seemed to have forgotten all about whatever he was going to say before Malfoy showed up. Hermione was quite sure that it wouldn’t have been good. Things were strange enough as it was without Harry adding to them.

Malfoy swivelled in Hermione’s direction. “Zabini told me about your little conversation earlier.” Hermione stiffened for the second time in as many minutes. Oh, God, not this again.

  “Oh?” It was to her credit that her voice managed to come out evenly, because her heart was pounding hard enough to shatter bricks.

  “It was – very interesting,” he answered, gaze boring into her as a small smirk twisted his lips. “ _Very_ interesting.”

  “I can’t see why that is, Malfoy.” Hermione replied, finally recovering recovered her courage from where it had been hiding (right beside the self-respect and dignity she lost when Ron decided to dip his quill into another inkwell) and continued in a stronger voice, “Despite what he might think, it wasn’t any of Zabini’s business, just as it isn’t any of yours.”

The blond darted a glance at the silent man behind her before raising a brow. “Arguable though that is, the fact remains that he was right. Enough is enough.” Hermione balked as Malfoy repeated Harry’s words from breakfast, so she missed what he said after. Unfortunately for him, however, she _did_ catch the rest of his sentence.

  “I should _what?_ ”

  “You heard me, Granger.”

  “How _dare_ you? How dare you presume to tell me what I should do with – with -”

  “Well, _someone_ had to tell you. It’s time to move on and we all know the best way to do that is to –”

  “Oh, don’t you dare repeat yourself, Malfoy! I heard you perfectly well the first time, you – you _deviant_!” Teeth gritted and cheeks heated for an entirely different reason, Hermione was beside herself with rage. Malfoy, on the other hand, appeared as unmoved as ever. The rat.

He shrugged now, even taking the time to nonchalantly lean against a stone pillar, seemingly unaffected by Hermione’s anger. “Get under to get over, my little Gryffindor. It’s actually very simple.” As she spluttered impotently, beyond words, Harry chuckled.

That’s right – _chuckled_. As if it were a joke; as if what she was going through was a joke.

It was the last straw.

  “You know what, Malfoy? I’ve had just about enough of you.” Hermione’s voice was quiet, dangerous, and Harry seemed to realise that it was no longer a joke, for he stepped out from behind her with a hand held out as if to soothe. But it was too late for that. “You too, Harry.” She shot a disgusted glance at her _former_ best friend who looked taken aback. “It isn’t enough that I have all of Wizarding Britain judging me, oh no! Now the two of you want to get in on it, as well!

  “Well, go on then!” Hermione cried, angry tears blurring her vision as all the hurt and rage that had been building up for almost two months suddenly boiled over. “Make a joke out of it! Poke fun at the girl who was stupid enough to trust that her _best friend_ wouldn’t betray her with someone he claimed he couldn’t even _stand._ ” Hermione swiped ineffectually at her tears, barely noticing the looks of dismay Harry and Malfoy wore.

  “How stupid was I – to think that I could be enough for him?” As she sobbed, her arms came up unconsciously to clench about her body, as if trying to hold it together. “After all, this is _me_ we’re talking about. How could I _possibly_ hope to –” Her voice broke off as sobs racked her body, hurt and disappointment almost _crippling_ her. She saw Harry and Malfoy move forward out of the corner of her eye, and she immediately raised a hand to wave them off. If either touched her, she knew she’d never recover.

  “Don’t, just – _don’t_ ,” she rasped. Using the cold stone wall to support herself, she glared at both of them through tear-filled eyes. “Just stay away from me. Both of you,” she added, ignoring Harry’s hurt look. Hiccupping now, her chest aching, Hermione used the last reserves of her strength to push herself off the wall and walked away; leaving Harry and Malfoy standing there, dumbfounded.

…

It took over an hour for Hermione to calm down, though the hiccups remained as a testament to her breakdown. The tearstained pillow muffled their panicked sounds and her last few sniffles. Hermione was thankful that everyone was still at dinner, because she was now conscious enough to realise just how embarrassing it would have been if her roommates had found her in the state she’d been in.

On reaching her bedroom, Hermione had flown into a rage. Sobbing hysterically, she had rummaged through her suitcase and chest of drawers, torn up every photo of Ron, burnt every letter and crushed the cheap gold necklace he’d given her in July (the one that she’d faithfully worn despite it turning her skin a nasty shade of green). Exhausted, she had then fallen onto her bed and cried herself into silence, something she hadn’t done since she was a child.

It wasn’t that she missed Ron – well, it wasn’t _just_ that. What had so crushed her over the last hour was finally realising that she had hung on to those things in the vain hope that he’d someday want her back. They had been proof that she was worth something. That she’d actually been _wanted_ by someone.

But, no. Not even Ron – the cheating, lying scumbag – had wanted her, even when he was dating her. What did that say about her?

A dry sob tore itself from her throat, but just as she was about to bury her head in the pillow and do her best to suffocate herself, there was a sharp tap on the window. Steeped in self-pity, Hermione turned over and did her best to ignore it, only to have her efforts rewarded with several more sharp taps.

Groaning in frustration, Hermione reluctantly rose from the bed and went to the window. Outside, a Bald Eagle eyed her sternly and resisted being buffeted by the strong winds. Hermione frowned in astonishment and taking pity on the bird, opened the window. It swooped in, settled on the desk and stuck out its leg. Puzzled as to just who would be writing her (she didn’t even know anyone with an Eagle), Hermione detached the letter and opened it up.

_Come to the Room of Requirement._

Hermione blinked twice at the long slanting italics, the piece of parchment surprisingly dry against her fingertips. What in the seven levels of Hell? The handwriting appeared oddly familiar, but – no. It couldn’t be.

The image of her desk in the dungeons flashed before her, confirming her suspicions. Ugh. There was no doubt about it; it was definitely Zabini’s handwriting.

Hermione barely registered the Eagle’s departure through the still open window as she shook her head in refusal, despite the fact that there was no one else around. Oh, no. There was no way she was going. Zabini must have been out of his mind.

She crumpled up the parchment and threw it into the bin, before sitting stubbornly on the bed. The ticking of her alarm clock (a Christmas gift from Molly Weasley) and the few remaining hiccups were the only sounds in the room, though the wind continued to rage outside. Refusing to think about it any longer (what _did_ Zabini think he was playing at?), Hermione snatched up her Charms textbook and flipped to her last page, reading fervently.

A few minutes later, after reading the same three sentences over and over, she finally gave it up as a lost cause.

  “Oh, for _God’s_ sake,” Hermione groaned, irritated, as she stalked over to the parchment that had been taunting her for the last few minutes and glared down at where it lay among feminine rubbish. “Fine! I’m going.”

After all, how bad could it really be?

…

 _Famous last words_ , Hermione thought, as she paced up and down before the entrance to the Room of Requirement.

She had been there for almost ten minutes, now, wondering whether she should actually go in. She had no idea what was in there. This could all be a trick Zabini was trying to play; God knew he was a Slytherin. Hermione had immediately reprimanded herself for such prejudice. If there was anything she’d learned from the war, it was that house boundaries had clearly played a major part. She refused to fall prey to them.

But still.

Hermione stomped her foot in frustration and was instantly grateful that there was no one around to see it. Her reputation was already swimming around in the toilet – there was no need to flush it all the way down. This was so annoying, though! For all the reasons she could think of to walk away, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

 _So, go in, Hermione_.

Torn, Hermione glanced both ways before stepping forward. To her surprise, an oak door appeared in the wall. She raised her hand to the gold knob before pulling it back.

 _But what if – no_. Even if Zabini _was_ out to humiliate her, how bad could it really be? She doubted there was anything the Slytherin could do that could possibly be any worse than anything she’d faced over the last year.

Swallowing hard, she turned the cold doorknob, pushed open the door with a creak and stepped in.

Much like the rest of Hogwarts, the Room of Requirement had been restored over the summer. Unlike the rest of the school, however, this one room had taken _all_ summer to be rebuilt. _Understandable when one considers how many enchantments it must have taken,_ Hermione thought.

When Hermione saw what form the room had taken, though, a gasp escaped her. Whatever she had expected, it hadn’t been this. Before her was a bedroom, luxuriously decorated in cream, burgundy and emerald. Over on the far wall, a fireplace blazed merrily, while on a dais in the middle stood the largest bed Hermione had ever seen.

_What is going on here?_

As two men stepped forward, however, Hermione realised that it was indeed possible for her to be even more surprised than she already was.

  “Harry? Malfoy?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 **I** wrote this story for the **Hermione Smut** challenge over on LJ in November 2012. The second and final part will be up in the next few days.

I am also going to post another story that I managed to write for the **Smutty Claus** challenge over on LJ called ‘ _Under the Table Assault’_ – a DM/HG. Expect it within the next few days.

I am now also posting over on GrangerEnchanted, and will be replacing the unbetaed versions of my works on here with the beta-ed versions very soon.

For those wondering about the impromptu hiatus, I cannot apologise enough. Uni has really been kicking my arse for the last few months (assignments and work experience have been RIDICULOUS), and I’ve only recently had some free time to work on ‘ _The Gauntlet’_ which is still alive and well.

I intend to post the next chapter of _The Gauntlet_ next Tuesday or Wednesday, with chapters to be posted on a weekly or fortnightly basis.

I love you all.

_TBOF._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. II

* * *

 

**II**

* * *

 

  “What are _you_ two doing here?” Hermione exclaimed as Harry and Malfoy stepped forward.

  “I’d have thought that was pretty obvious, Granger,” Malfoy answered lightly. But Hermione wasn’t in the mood.

  “I thought I said I didn’t want to speak to either of you,” she continued, annoyed. Her eyes snapped to Harry, who looked oddly exuberant. “Harry?”

The green-eyed man darted a glance at his blond companion before replying, “We’re here to help you.”

  “Help me?” Hermione snorted in disbelief. “I think I’ve had enough of people’s ‘help’ for today. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She turned to leave, only to be turned back to face Harry whose hands now clasped her bare arms.

  “Hermione –”

  “No, Harry. I –”

   “Just hear us out.”

   “No! Do you think going over and over my broken relationship is fun for me?” Hermione’s throat closed up as she gazed at him, hurt. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

A gentle smile graced Harry’s lips as his eyes softened. “I am your friend, love. Just hear us out, then if you still want to, you can leave.” Earlier hurt making an unwelcome return, Hermione eyed him, unsure, before seeing the sincerity in his expression and nodding.

Admittedly curious as to just why she’d been summoned here (and knowing that Harry would never consciously hurt her), Hermione allowed him to take her hand and lead her over to the cushy sofa in front of the fire. Muffled footsteps sounded behind her, an indicator that Malfoy was following them. The three sank into the chairs, Hermione between them, one hand on her lap and one still in both of Harry’s. For now, she insisted on facing the dark-haired man, wanting some sense of familiarity in what had been a very strange day.

   “What’s going on, Harry?” Hermione asked when Harry didn’t seem about to talk, choosing instead to have a creepy silent conversation with the silent man behind her. Harry’s focus returned to her, and he seemed almost hesitant for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure she was going to like what he had to say. In response, Hermione drew back. If he was going to bring _that_ up again—

   “Hermione, it’s been over a month since –”

   “Harry, we are _not_ going to talk about this.”

   “Let him finish, Granger.” Startled, Hermione turned to face Malfoy who had spoken for the first time in almost five minutes. His gaze was fixed steadily on her, urging her to heed his words.

   “I know that you loved him, but –,” Harry started.

Without thinking, Hermione let out a bark of laughter. “It isn’t that I loved him, Harry. That isn’t why I’ve been so… It’s just that –” she broke off and turned to look at the flames, suddenly conscious of what she’d almost let slip.

   “It’s just that, what?” Harry softly prompted. She glanced over to find him looking at her. The knowledge that he had stood by her through all of this, backed her when he could have sided with his other best friend, gave her the strength to continue.

  “I liked him. I _really_ liked him,” she continued, slumping over as hurt threatened to once again overwhelm her. Determined to keep it together (it wouldn’t do to break down twice in one day), Hermione swallowed hard, blinked twice and glanced at the ceiling, before going on, “But that isn’t what hurts the most. It’s the fact that he didn’t even have the nerve to break it off with me properly before taking up with someone else. It’s the fact that I wasn’t –” another hard swallow, “I wasn’t _enough_ to keep him.”

At that, she felt Malfoy shift behind her. A moment later, large warm hands burned into her skin and she was facing Harry again. He was almost terrifying, his face cast in intimidating shadow from the fire and his hands clenched almost painfully around her arms. “Don’t you _dare_ tell yourself that. He’s the one that messed up, not you. _He_ is the one at fault here. _You_ were too good for _him_ , notthe other way around”

Hermione snorted. “Right. _That_ ’ _s_ why he cheated on me with _Cho Chang_ – because I’m too good for him.”

  “It’s true, Granger,” Malfoy answered quietly. Hermione whirled around to face him, ignoring the unusually serious look on his face.

  “No, it’s not,” she told him pityingly. “If that were the case then why is Ron having no trouble finding replacements for me, while I haven’t been asked out _once_?”

  “Because they’re intimidated by you, love.” Hermione sat back in disbelief as Harry spoke, her brow furrowed in disbelief. “You’re a war heroine, ridiculously intelligent, the Greatest Witch of the Age and absolutely beautiful.”

  “Ha!” Hermione snorted, laughter burbling from her throat. “Beautiful? Right.” What an utterly ridiculous notion. Beside her, Malfoy seemed to freeze as Harry stared at her.

  “Wait; is that what this is about?” Harry asked, incredulous. “Tell me that isn’t what this is about.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hermione feigned ignorance.

  “You don’t think you’re beautiful?” Harry asked. His lips twisted in a smile as Malfoy let out a harsh bark of laughter. Hermione’s self-esteem was so low, however, that she didn’t realise they weren’t laughing at her.

  “It’s not funny, Harry,” she answered, eyes prickling with hurt tears. She’d always known it, but to have him confirm it push the subject (in the company of her former nemesis to boot), only pushed the knife in further.

  “Oh, no, love,” Harry rushed to explain, wiping a hand across his still smiling face. “We’re not laughing at you. It’s just that the idea is ridiculous.”

  “Right,” Hermione scoffed, eyes rolling to Heaven.

  “Granger, you’re lovely and you know it,” Malfoy said, leaning back against the cushions. Startled, an embarrassed flush rising to her cheeks, Hermione stared at Malfoy in confusion, and then realised what was going on.

  “There’s no need to make fun of me, Malfoy.” She eyed him, upset. “Haven’t you and your friend done enough today?” But Malfoy just rolled his eyes and smiled in a soft way she’d never seen before. 

  “I mean it,” he replied. He raised a gentle hand to brush away a strand of hair that had escaped from her bun. “You’re beautiful.” Unsure, Hermione leaned away, not noticing the slight hurt in his eyes at her actions.

  “He’s right,” Harry picked up. Hermione turned to see him watching her in much the same way Malfoy was. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight with something different to earlier. She edged forward, fulfilling the unconscious need to create a distance between herself and the two men. Men she had suddenly just realised were beautiful in their own right.

  “Is that what you called me here to tell me?” she asked, trying to return the situation to even ground. Behind her turned back, the two men exchanged a glance.

  “No, actually. We called you here to make you feel better,” Harry answered. Hermione moved back into the cushions, trying to return to her more comfortable position.

  “And what does Zabini have to do with this?” Hermione thought of the letter that had gotten her there in the first place.

  “He helped us organise this,” Malfoy replied. His hand was now tracing the arch of her back, and a shiver ran down her spine – one Hermione tried not to let out. Judging by his smile, though, Malfoy had noticed.

Prat.

  “What exactly is ‘this’?” Hermione asked, determined to ignore the sudden change in atmosphere. The temperature of the room seemed to have gone up by several degrees in only the last few minutes. The Room was clearly malfunctioning, Hermione thought. She’d have to speak to McGonagall.

  “We’re here to serve you, Hermione,” Harry offered, sounding more tentative than Malfoy had.

  “Serve me how?” Hermione noted that she sounded faraway; the heated trail Malfoy blazed with his fingertips was serving as a heady distraction. She was suddenly very aware of the heat radiating from both their bodies.

  “Sexually.” Malfoy was typically blunt. “We will do whatever you want, however you want.” His words ended almost on a purr. Hermione felt the colour leach from her face.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Granger.”

  “But -”

  “‘But’- what?”

Words escaped her. She was aware that she was gaping like a dying fish, knew that it couldn’t be in any way attractive, but who could blame her? Surely this was some kind of joke.

But when she turned to Harry, his serious expression told her all she needed to know.

  “Both of you?” she asked, incredulous. Being civil was one thing, but – _this_? There was no way Harry and Draco would be willing to essentially share the same girl.

  “Both of us.” Malfoy was firm. “What do you think we’ve been talking about in class all day? We’ve been planning this for quite some time.”

  “But you can’t stand each other!” Hermione shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing.

  “Well, we’re not the best of friends, but we’re not going to let that stop us. Besides,” Harry continued, “he isn’t _that_ bad. Once you get past all the hair gel.”

  “Don’t be tiresome, Potter. I don’t wear gel anymore.”

She knew they were using humour to try and distract her, but they’d have to do a lot better than that.

  “You don’t have to do this, Harry.” Hermione tried to let him off, let _herself_ off. There was no way she was going to allow them to do this. Once they saw her naked, they’d run a mile, and she couldn’t face that.

  “I want to.” His eyes had that odd glow again. It was even more disconcerting now than it had been a few hours ago.

  “But why?” Hermione couldn’t help the question, heart pounding and held captive by his beguiling gaze. It was a moment before Harry’s eyes dropped to her collarbone, releasing her. The reprieve was temporary, though, as his fingers followed their path, sending tingles through her system. A heated smile crossed his lips and those green eyes darted up and once again held her captive.

  “How could I not?”

…

  “So how exactly is this going to work?” Hermione asked a moment later, her hands trembling with nerves. Harry and Malfoy – _Draco_ , she would have to call him Draco now that they were going to do this – were throwing some of the cushions onto the floor. Hermione was grateful for the time to recover some composure, because even now she wasn’t sure if this was such a great idea.

Away from heated touch and glowing eyes, it was a lot easier to think clearly, and her doubts had returned with a vengeance.

  “However you want it to,” Harry tossed the last spare cushion across the room. Oh, and they were back, settling into the last few remaining cushions, their focus entirely on her. It was both heady and terrifying. 

  “Malfoy, why are you even doing this?” Hermione turned see the silver-eyed man silently watching her. The light from the fire reflected off his hair, making it look almost like a halo. Hermione could have laughed at the irony.

  “After this summer, I owe you Granger,” Draco drawled, looking almost amused. “And a Malfoy always pays his debts.”

Hermione stiffened. “Is that the only reason why –?”

  “No,” Draco cut her off. “That _isn’t_ actually why I’m doing this, but you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” One glance at him told Hermione that there was no way he was going to tell her, so she gave up.

  “So, what now?” Hermione’s heart seemed to pound in her ears. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do, who she was about to do it _with_. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy; light and dark. Hermione had always found it funny that with his tanned skin, raven hair and startling green eyes, Harry had been the one fighting for the Light, when Draco looked just like a fallen angel – tussled, gel-less blond hair, pewter eyes and pale skin. Now seated in front of her, side by side, they contrasted perfectly.

And made Hermione even more nervous than before.

  “Whatever you want, Hermione.” Harry’s lips had never been more distracting, full and enticing. An inexplicable urge to bite them overcame her – one she counteracted by biting her own. Draco’s focus fell to them, his eyes turning to a mesmeric quicksilver.

  “You want me to tell you what to do?” Hermione asked, disbelief not the only thing making her breathless.

  “Yes.” Draco’s voice was quietly hypnotic, his eyes still on her mouth, making Hermione want to close her eyes and allow them to have their way with her. “Take back your control. We’re yours to command.” At that, the temperature seemed to climb another few notches. Hermione’s scoop-necked blouse suddenly seemed too restricting, and she pulled at the right sleeve with her left hand. As Harry and Draco watched her, waiting for her to give a direction, the only sounds in the room was that of their breathing and the crackling fire.

Oh, God. How had she gotten here? In this room; about to engage in sexual acts with her best friend and former enemy? They might think she was beautiful now when she was covered up (‘might’ being the key word, here), but when she took off her clothes – would they still think she was then?

Seeing her almost crippled with nervous indecision, Harry laid a calloused hand on her jean-covered knee, only for her to jump as if she’d had an electric shock. “It’s just us, love.” Hermione looked up as Harry smiled at her. “Tell us what you want us to do.”

 _It’s just Harry_ , she thought. _Okay, him and Ma-Draco, but you know Harry’d never hurt you._ Taking courage from Harry’s sincerity, Hermione nodded sharply, exhaled and refocused on the two men before her. “Take off your shirts.” She instantly cringed, expecting them to refuse - to tell her that it had only been an offer; that they hadn’t actually intended to go through with it. Almost immediately, however, the two men pulled their jumpers over their heads. Surprised that they were actually doing this, Hermione blinked at them. It wasn’t until the jumpers were on the floor that she actually looked at what they’d revealed.

They were both so achingly beautiful that she wasn’t quite sure who to look at first. Strongly muscled, ridged abs, acres of flawless tanned and pale skin, dusky nipples that just _begged_ for – she stopped her hungry perusal. _Begged for what, Hermione_? A thought like that had never crossed her mind – not even when she was with Ron. She’d never itched to touch something the way she wanted to touch those two bare chests. Clearly, this power over them had gone to her head, she decided.

Yep, that was it. A case of absolute power corrupting absolutely.

Refusing to ponder it any longer, Hermione looked up to find them both watching her with what could only be _hunger_ and the bottom of her stomach fell away. She flashed a nervous smile in the hopes of distracting them. “Okay, my turn.” She hesitated before forcing her hands to pull off her blouse, leaving her in her lacy purple bra. She’d only put it on this morning to in an attempt to boost her confidence, but when she saw how Harry and Draco’s eyes locked onto it, she was glad she had.

The heat in their gazes gave her the confidence to beckon them. “Come here.” They did so without a second thought, shuffling forward on the cool silk duvet and coming to a stop right in front of her. Hermione couldn’t help but noticed that they were close enough to touch now.

Not that she was going to touch them, she assured herself. Not just yet anyway.

  “Would you let us kiss you, Mistress?” Harry asked. His eyes were aglow, the green deep enough to fall into. Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat at his deferential tone. _Mistress_? A light pulse started up in that area between her thighs. Hermione was quite sure that the word shouldn’t be turning her on quite as much as it was. What kind of deviant was she?

_Deviant._

Then something crossed her mind – something she hadn’t considered before. Ron had always been slightly vanilla when it came to sex, reprimanding her whenever she suggested something new for them to try. Could it be that those would have been _his_ words – his criticisms?

No, she decided. She wouldn’t allow Ron to spoil this for her. She’d already allowed him to spoil almost everything else. Two gorgeous men catering to her every whim? Hermione deserved this and was giving herself permission to enjoy it.

  “You may,” Hermione told Harry firmly, eyes fixed on Draco to let him know that she was addressing them both.

Harry leaned forward, and… a moment later… soft, warm lips brushed gently against her own.

Hermione sat enthralled as they seemed to whisper across her mouth, her lids falling shut. Warmth flooded through her limbs as the drugging kiss continued, as every millimetre of her mouth was explored from corner to corner. Harry pulled away every few seconds, seeming intent on trying to tease and pull her lips into an unconscious pout. A moist tongue lightly swept across her upper lip, as if Harry was helpless but to taste her. His answering groan vibrated through her and a moaned sigh left her in response.

Too soon, he pulled back. Hermione tried to follow him only to find empty air. Her bones seeming to have turned to jelly, Hermione took a deep breath, her eyes fluttering open. Harry and Draco were once again side by side, though the former’s mouth looked even more full and swollen than it had a few minutes ago. The blond, eyes darkened to a stormy grey, moved even closer to her, cupped her chin in one large calloused hand and took her mouth.

There was no other word for it. His mouth plundered, ravaged as if it were a pirate ship seeking its next great treasure. The two kisses were so different. Where Harry had teased and taunted, Draco’s kiss seared its way into her. Helpless moans sounded in her ears and it took several moments for her to realise they were her own. Draco nipped and nibbled at her, her mouth bruising from his efforts, and at last Hermione threw out a hand from where it gripped the duvet to clench around his broad shoulder, needing the support. At her touch, he let out a moan, pulling her onto his lap. Under her, she felt an unmistakeable hardness and needing relief, ground on it. Draco groaned this time, his kiss deepening, his tongue darting past her lips. A shiver racked her body as it stroked the roof of her mouth, but before things could go any further, Draco was pulled away.

  “What?” Body reeling from two sensational kisses in as many minutes, she shivered from the sudden change in temperature. Draco had been so _hot_ , his skin burning into hers. Harry, too. How was it possible for them to be so warm? How was it possible for _her_ to be so warm?

She opened her eyes again to see Harry’s mouth had thinned into a white line, while Draco’s pupils were so dilated, his irises appeared almost black. Hermione’s breath hitched. She’d affected them like this. Just that morning, she wouldn’t have thought it possible. Hell, she laughed mentally. Just an _hour_ ago, she wouldn’t have thought it possible.

  “What would you have us do now, Mistress?” Draco’s gaze burned into her. His voice was enviably steady, but his flushed skin and trembling hands gave him away.

_Yours to command, Hermione. Yours to do with as you will._

Hermione shivered as her pussy gushed at the thought. It already felt like warm melting chocolate down there; this certainly wasn’t helping matters.

  “May we touch you?” Harry asked, eyes just as dark as Draco’s.

  “Mistress,” Hermione corrected firmly then winced at how she must have sounded. Had she have gone too far? Apparently not, for Harry’s white teeth flashed in a sly smile as if her assertion of control had been his intention.

  “May we touch you, _Mistress_ ,” he repeated, his voice quavering a little. At that, Hermione frowned. It was almost as if her words had turned him on. Could her taking control be as erotic for them as it was for her?

Seemed that the famous Harry Potter and infamous Draco Malfoy had a kink no one knew about.

  “You may.” When they moved to do so, she held up a finger and they halted. “But only with one hand.” A glint entered Draco’s eye and a smirk twisted Harry’s lips, making Hermione briefly wonder if her suggestion had been such a good idea.

Before she could really think about it, though, Draco stroked her neck and Harry brushed her thigh, sending tingles spiralling from both places. They edged forward, even closer, invading her space with the scent of smoke and sandalwood. It was intoxicating and made her want to lean closer. So she did – because tonight was for doing whatever she liked, with whoever she liked, however she liked.

Hermione buried her face in the space between their necks where their shoulders met. She placed her lips on a damp stretch of skin, not caring whose it was, just wanting to pass on some of the pleasure she was feeling. A hitch of breath was her reward when she traced her tongue along that velvet, tasting the salt left behind by their earlier kisses. One last press of her lips then she moved onto the one beside it, letting out a puff of air and kissing the goose bumps that rose in its wake.

Her men were by no means idle, though. That hand on her thigh was creeping upwards inch by inch as the one on her shoulder swept along her collarbone. When Harry’s hand teased its way along her inner thigh, a gush of liquid flooded her pussy and her nipples tightened almost painfully. Hermione was finding it harder and harder to breathe, puffing air all over the shoulder she was leaning on. Harry and Draco weren’t faring so well, either. She could feel the rise and fall of their chests, so closely were they pressed to her.

But it wasn’t enough.

Needing to get even closer, she mindlessly placed one thigh over Draco’s and the other over Harry’s. A gasp escaped one of them as she pressed her torso against theirs as best she could, her bra-clad breasts finally finding purchase against two solid, damp chests. She moaned at the slight relief of their damp velvety skin against hers, the exquisite pressure of their hardness against where she needed it most.

But it still wasn’t enough.

  “Remove my bra,” she commanded, too far gone to be self-conscious. Two groans were her reply and a moment later, the bra was expertly unclasped and removed.  Hermione had arched her back and pressed her tight nipples against them before the bra had even joined the two jumpers already on the floor. Another shiver racked her body and she moaned helplessly as the ache in her nipples only worsened.

How could it be, she wondered? How could this be making things worse? She needed more – so much more. Uncaring now, she grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled it down to her breasts where a fingertip fluttered across an aching point. She shuddered in reaction.

  “What do you need, Mistress?” Draco’s voice sounded choked.

  “Touch my breasts, Draco,” she stuttered, breathless. “Use both hands – both of you. Pinch them, pull them - just – just _touch them_.” Without delay, he cupped both breasts and _oh, sweet relief._ Calloused thumbs rasped across her aching nipples and Hermione’s breath was released in sharp gasps. She bit down in reaction and Harry let out a loud groan, stroking those large warm hands of his up her inner thighs.

She couldn’t stop shaking now. It was almost like she was in bed with the flu - only the flu had never felt this good, else it would have been a sickness one would hope never to recover from.

Even as her breasts were roughly handled, pinched, pulled, _tormented,_ what was happening below her waist was just as cruel – just as perfect. Gasp after gasp as her lower lips were gently pulled apart, air only slightly cooler than her body whispering across it. Hermione groaned so loudly she was sure she’d be heard in the Dungeons. She couldn’t help it; it was just _too much._

Hermione trembled, hands trying to grip her men’s sweaty shoulders, as Harry’s fingers softly stroked her outer folds, her swollen neglected clit pulsing away. A moment later, when Harry finally rubbed his thumb across it, a sob tore itself from her throat.

 _Fuck, oh_ fuck.

  “More, Harry, more,” she begged, already so close she could taste it. It was almost as if they knew just how to touch her – roughly above and softly below. If only she could –

But she lost all thought when Harry deepened his caress, fingertips roughened by years of Quidditch rasping their way across her clit as it was gently pulled and released. Pulled and released. Her nipples were on fire, seeming to pulse in Draco’s expert touch. She was only slightly aware of the way her fingernails were digging into their necks. They didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, if the way they were moaning sweet nothings and pressing kisses to her overheated skin was anything to go by, they were actually enjoying it.

Suddenly, Harry pushed two fingers into her, curving all the way up, and Hermione keened. Her head fell back, eyes blurred by the sweat falling into her eyes. The lethargic heat from earlier had reached boiling point, searing through her bones. It rushed from where Harry’s fingers were buried to the hilt inside her, from where Draco’s talented touch tormented her aching breasts, all the way up… to…

  “ _Oh, FUCK!”_ With that shout, the rush of heat overwhelmed her, taking her under and throwing her over at the same time. It was incredible, terrifying and bewildering all at once. Like a leaf in a storm, she felt weightless, yet buffeted by something infinitely more powerful than herself.

 _Oh, God_.

Surely she was dying? _But what a way to go._

She came for what felt like an eternity before she finally felt the warm silk beneath her buttocks, slightly damp from the sweat dripping off her body. Still panting, she finally opened her eyes to find Draco smirking proudly and Harry beaming. Hermione couldn’t help noting the differences between them and Ron. He’d never seemed to care much about her orgasms, always acting as if they were something to get out of the way before he got his.

It made a nice change not to feel as if you were under pressure to come before an unstated deadline. As if your pleasure was a mere pit stop on the way to a destination where your partner would be the only one getting off (pun intended).

Underneath their apparent pleasure at _her_ pleasure, however, was an undercurrent of unsatisfied need and Hermione was reminded that they hadn’t come yet. Not that it was possible to ignore the huge erections still tented beneath their boxers.

And speaking of unsatisfied need, Hermione was shocked to find that she was still turned on. That her clit still pulsed a desperate beat, demanding satiation. That, if anything, that orgasm had only served to whet her appetite by taking the edge off.

_How is that possible? I’ve never been like this before._

Is this what sex was always supposed to be like? Was it the discovery that she liked taking charge in the bedroom, that it had felt like she had finally taken back the control that was ripped from her on Ron’s betrayal?

Or maybe this was just what sex was like when you were doing it with people who found you attractive. Because there was no longer any doubt in Hermione’s mind that Harry and Draco found her attractive. There was no way you could fake the massive erections they’d been sporting for the last fifteen minutes.

Seeking to reward them and also looking to scratch that persistent itch, Hermione crooked her finger, with a smile so naughty it had surely been expelled from three schools. Their own smiles turned positively wicked as they once again shuffled forward.

  “Did we please you, Mistress?” Draco asked, pewter eyes sly.

  “You did,” Hermione answered, the waves from her climax still vibrating through her body. She finally gave in to something she’d wanted to all night and stroked her hands through their soft hair. They leaned into the touch, a sound almost like a purr erupting from their chests, and Hermione only just managed to keep herself from giggling at how like cats they were in that moment. “Good boys. But now I want more.” She shifted in delicious discomfort as her pussy pulsed again, reminding her of what she needed next. “I’m going to fuck one of you.”

  “Which one of us, Mistress?” Harry swallowed at her words, fists clenching the duvet. She already knew who she wanted to be first, but she had to be sure of something first.

  “Do we have the rest of the night?” she asked, rubbing her thumbs against the scalps. Groaning, Draco nodded.

  “We have as long as you want, Mistress.” His eyes seemed to hold some kind of hidden meaning, and they held Hermione captive for a moment before she recovered and gently pulled them towards her using their heads. They came willingly, leaning into her soft touch.

  “Then I want Harry first.” She glanced at Draco but, thankfully, he didn’t appear hurt. Once again, she couldn’t help comparing Ron unfavourably to him. For someone who clearly hadn’t cared one whit for fidelity himself, he’d had one _hell_ of a jealous streak.

But enough about that ginger-haired prat, she thought, and returned to the infinitely more pleasant present.

  “Lie down, Harry.” She motioned further up the bed towards the pillows, before turning to Draco and continuing, “Strip.” His smirk managing to become even more wicked, Draco went to his knees and removed his black knit boxers. Over by the pillows, Harry did the same, peeling his own boxers from his leanly muscled body. And in the presence of two tumescent cocks (because being as swollen, heavy and exciting as they were had made them into just that - not penises, not dicks - _cocks_ ), Hermione wasn’t quite sure which to stare at first.

They were both oddly beautiful in a way she’d never before considered the male genitalia to be. Swollen, huge, pink and dripping with pre-cum that she so desperately wanted to touch, they were enticing and she had the sudden urge to sit on one… or both.

 _Maybe later, Hermione_. She almost clutched herself in delight at the thought.

She crawled up the bed, breasts swaying beneath her, then realised that at some point during the last half an hour, her knickers had been ripped off, for the purple scraps lay on the gold pillow behind Harry’s head. Huh. She hadn’t even noticed.

Smiling to herself, she straddled Harry’s legs and came to a rest just before his erection, which seemed to tremble under gaze. “Come, Draco.” A moment later, the blond was lying beside Harry. As if in a trance, Hermione reached out both hands and touched the tip of their cocks. They were hot and jumped at her touch, their owners releasing heavy groans. Another stroke and more groans. A small smile came to her lips as she moved her hands to grip them. Harry clenched the duvet as if to keep from reaching from her, while Draco bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Oddly fascinated, Hermione watched as a small bead of blood stained his lips red. She had made him do that. Draco Malfoy, icy Prince of Slytherin, was writhing under her touch.

It was seductive, dangerously addictive.

If she’d been an observer, she’d have told herself to be careful, that nothing good could come from this. But she wasn’t. And this was the night for her to do as she pleased, so…

  “Do you like that, boys?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mistress,” they answered breathlessly, arching into her touch. She gripped and pulled, alternating between slight twists and pressing into the seeping slit at the point of their cocks. They seemed to love when she did that, Hermione noted with a flush of pride. She could have spent all night pleasuring them like this, having found that touching them was almost as good as being touched herself, but she had something else in mind.

She went to her knees and without warning, lowered herself onto Harry’s erection in one swoop, the force pushing the air from her lungs. His cock, heavy and full, sent tingles from where it pulsed inside her, flushing her system with an unbearably itchy heat.

  “Oh, that’s so good,” Hermione sighed, squirming in pleasure as Harry’s eyes bulged from his head and his abs rippled in reaction. Wanting to make Draco feel as good as she did, she twisted his erection hard, the blond panting and arching his back for more as sweat dripped off his forehead. And with that, she started to move, up and down, pushing onto and propelling herself off of the swollen cock trapped in her moist heat, giving her such pleasure. On one particularly hard downward thrust, she hit that sensitive place Harry had found earlier and continued at that angle, her passionate moans hitting the ceiling every time the hardness within her pressed against that spot.

Oh, why hadn’t she and Harry done this before? Why hadn’t she tracked Draco down and pounced on him after class ages ago? To think she’d been moping after Ron when she could have been doing this.

What a waste.

Harry was thrusting up now, biting his lip, his cock pounding into her with so much force that his hot swollen balls pressed against her buttocks. Draco was spluttering, groaning, his pale skin red with exertion and face screwed up in ecstasy. Hermione was almost delirious, riding high on the crest of the heated waves rocketing through her system.

Slaps.

Groans.

Whines.

Calls for God and Merlin.

And finally, three shouts to the sky. Two hot, creamy releases of cum. One suddenly silent room.

…

Hermione finally floated back to earth to find that someone was covering her with the silk duvet. Her mind arrived a few moments later, reluctant to leave the ecstasy it had so recently revelled in. Her breaths were still quicker than usual, but her skin felt pleasantly fresh – an indicator that someone had cast a _Scourgify_. The sheets beneath her were also thankfully cool and she opened her eyes to see Draco and Harry lying on either side of her, beneath the covers.

Harry’s lips tilted in a hesitant smile, his black hair messier than she had ever seen it, while Draco eyed her, face carefully expressionless. Their clear apprehension over what she was about to say next chased away any encroaching insecurities and doubts, the ones that had haunted her for almost two months.

For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt at peace. And it was all thanks to the two men lying beside her.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, a small smile gracing her full-lipped mouth. Instantly, Harry’s smile widened and a look of relief fleeted across Draco’s aristocratic features.

  “It was our pleasure, Granger,” Draco replied. Hermione fixed him with a jokey glare.

  “I think, after that, you can call me Hermione,” she told him, amused. He tilted his head in acknowledgement, his expression warming.

  “Hermione.” His oddly fervent tone gave Hermione pause, as did the glow in his eyes. But she didn’t dare to hope. There was no way they could want more – could they? Knowing her luck, probably not. But she had to ask. She’d spent too much time allowing others to determine her destiny, and they had just helped her take back that control. Time to exercise it.

  “So what now?” she asked nervously, though she forced herself to look Harry in the eye as she turned over. He shared a look with Draco and the two seemed to communicate in that creepy silent way again, before he answered:

  “It’s like we said before, love. Anything you want, however you want – for however long you want.”

 Excited, now, happiness she hadn’t felt in so long making a welcome return, Hermione grinned. “Well, can we –”

  “Oh, no, Hermione,” Draco laughed and to her dismay, tucked her in. “Sleep first, _then_ we can do whatever you have in mind, you minx.” Hermione let out an unwitting pout.

  “But -”

  “Trust us, love,” Harry took up, dropping a soft but heated kiss against her neck that made her want to squirm. “It’ll be worth it.” When Draco playfully bit her shoulder, she rolled her eyes.

  “Ugh fine.” Feigning annoyance, Hermione closed her eyes.

  “What have we created, Potter? I blame you.”

  “Me? You’re the one who –”

Hermione didn’t catch the rest of what Harry said for, at that very moment, Sleep decided it was time to pay her a visit.

 

…..

  “SO it worked?”

  “Like a charm.”

  “Thank Merlin -”

  “Our git of a brother didn’t deserve her anyway. Those two will treat her right, and if Malfoy messes up –”

  “Don’t worry, he won’t. He’s been infatuated with her for months now.”

  “And Harry wasn’t much better. Don’t know how he managed to hide it from dear little Ronniekins.”

  “They won’t suspect our involvement will they? Between hexing Ronnie’s dick off, we’re in big enough trouble with Mum as it is.”

  “They won’t suspect a thing.”

  “Excellent. Well done.”

  “Yeah, absolutely brilliant. We have high hopes for you.”

  “I told you this last time, gentlemen. This was a one-time thing.”

  “Of course it was. Say hi to our little sister for us, would ya?”

  “Excuse me? Why would I –”

  “Just say hi to her.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

…

Glancing around, Blaise Zabini dowsed the fire, before rushing quickly out of the Slytherin common room and up the stairs to his bedroom. A moment later, a door slammed shut and all was silent in Hogwarts once again.

 

_Fin._

 

* * *

 

This is the end of _Carpe Imperium_ – which I can only hope you enjoyed -, but keep an eye out for my Draco/Hermione one-shot ‘ _Under the Table Assault’_ which I will post either tomorrow or Sunday.

 _IX_ of _The Gauntlet_ will be out sometime next week (most likely Tuesday or Wednesday), and I hope you all enjoy that too.

Till next time!

**TBOF**


End file.
